The Greatest Thing
by Vendelyn Silverhawk
Summary: A study of the lives of two S.H.I.E.L.D. spies-turned-superheros and how their lives have shaped who they are, how THEY have shaped who they are. Add in the Avengers, Hydra, a mission gone wrong, and declarations at all the wrong times, and you get... a regular day in the life. Galina Barton is born on the 4th of July and Steve could not be more proud. family!Avengers.


**A/N: Just a quick one-shot I wrote after brainstorming with a friend (myPARABATAIisbetterthanyours on ) about the particulars of Clint and Natasha's relationship, romantic or otherwise. The conclusion we came to was "Moulin Rouge" and it all kind of spiraled downhill from there.**

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_"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return." Moulin Rouge_

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Nat would never admit it as long as she drew breath, but the first time she watched Moulin Rouge she cried. She cried honest to God tears when Satine and Christian said their goodbyes and the courtesan died to a thunderous applause, and Clint had to hold her until the credits were done rolling because he was crying, too.

But no one would ever know this, because Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff were Super Secret Assassins who killed people and toppled terrorist dictators and could eviscerate a ma thirteen different ways with a ballpoint pen. They didn't watch movies and they certainly didn't waste tears over sappy musical romances. They were Invincible and Inhuman.

Neither of those things were true. Still, their arrangement had never been a normal one, not by a long shot.

When they returned from missions a day late, Coulson said nothing, or when S.H.I.E.L.D. was charged for a night in a nice hotel in Dubai or Venice he just scanned his S.H.I.E.L.D. card and didn't mention it to Fury or Hill. What happened between S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agents stayed between them, as long as it didn't affect their performance in the field. Relationships were frowned upon but it was only when they compromised things that they were dealt with. Coulson never would have accused them of being in a relationship- but he knew they worked together in a singular manner and he saw no reason to mess with it. Whatever they did to cope with the lives they lived was their business, and they managed it spectacularly. They were pragmatic, survivors, and if kissing- and more- took the edge off the nightmares, then they were keeping themselves sane. As Natasha said, "Love is for children."

But she still came running when Barton was compromised, and everyone in the helicarrier comm system heard Loki's taunts, no matter that Natasha didn't react beyond her subterfuge needed her to. In the aftermath of New York, Clint got a month of leave and SHIELD-sponsored therapy. He and Natasha disappeared the next day and that therapist never got any visits.

Coulson told Fury, "You know how they are," when the Director grumbled about hotel expenses in Brazil. Three weeks later they were back to work like nothing had happened.

The red in their ledgers rose higher.

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When the Avengers had their fourth movie night, Steve picked "Up" because he had never seen it and he was tired of Tony picking action movies. All of them piled into the living room, Thor and Bruce in separate chairs, Tony and Pepper on one side of the massive wraparound couch and Steve, Nat, and Clint on the other. Her head was in his lap and she smelled like lavender shampoo, and Clint was thrown back to Venice when they'd had to take out a father of three because he was part of an organization planning to kill three million. The hotel had stocked lavender shampoo and the sheets had been soft on their clean bodies and even though he knew they weren't anything he almost wanted to be.

The next morning they put on their clothes, the sun burning away the last traces of intimacy and passion from the night before. When they were confronted with killing the man's brother two months later he had begged and cursed, and when he asked Natasha what she would do if someone came after Clint she blew his brains out.

Later the stress of taking out the entire rest of his cell and the innocent wife who had broken routine on the wrong day, they collapsed, sleeping and trembling as they waited on a motel rooftop for extraction. Climbing into the plane Natasha said he could sleep first; that she would take watch. Even in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hands they couldn't bring themselves to relax sometimes, needed to keep constant vigilance.

"I've got your six," she had murmured, so he let his eyes fall closed and slept all the way to the states.

Nat stiffened beneath him, her hand clenching on his knee as Ellie's head sank into her hands and the clouds shaped like babies disappeared in lieu of a colorless doctor's office. Glancing down at her, he saw the sheen in her eyes, the hard set of her mouth, and briefly panicked. He wasn't ready to deal with this again.

Natasha's hand reached out to the remote, pressing PAUSE with amazing calm. Ellie, long red hair streaming past her shoulders as she sat on the porch with a blank look, froze on screen.

"It's time for ice-cream," Nat said, and Clint shifted to let her up.

"What?" Tony cried, looking up in shock.

"But we're less than twenty minutes in!" Steve said, then he saw the expression on Natasha's face and snapped his mouth shut.

"Dibs on mint!" Clint called, scrambling to his feet so he could follow Nat into the kitchen. Slowly the others followed, bickering about flavors and toppings but all slightly subdued after the tragedy on screen- no doubt Steve was regretting his choice of movie.

"You ok?" Clint asked as he made his way over to the far corner of the kitchen where Natasha was leaning against the counter, a bowl of mint ice-cream in her hand.

"_Ya vse yeshche khochu, chto ya ne mogu imet' i teper' glupyy detskiy fil'm ya plachu nad ney_," she murmured, not looking at him. He hoped up on the counter and silently thanked the others for focusing on ice-cream instead of them_. (I still want what I can't have and now a stupid children's movie has me crying over it.)_

"I still don't speak Russian, Nat," he said, and a bitter smile tugged at her lips.

"I didn't think a children's movie would hurt so much," she said, and when their eyes met he was thrown back again but to a time without any happiness at all.

"Yeah," he said. "Damn Disney."

She smiled a bit at that, so he knew they were ok, but he still risked resting a hand on her shoulder in the dark of the living room as Pepper pressed PLAY and they dug into their ice-cream. He wasn't ashamed that they were all crying by the end of the movie at least a little, except for Nat and Tony. She

She kissed him softly on the cheek before he entered his room that night, and he murmured, "I've got your six," into her ear. She slipped away without a word.

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The day they found out that Natasha couldn't have children, Clint was terrified that he was about to lose his partner of two years. When the physical reports came back from her first of many mandatory S.H.I.E.L.D. check-ups, Natasha learned that the Red Room had taken more liberties with her body than she had originally thought. It was as close to breaking as Clint had ever seen her.

"They couldn't have their assets out of commission for nine months," she said in a chillingly detached voice. "It makes sense."

"Natasha-"

"I never thought I would care," she murmured, staring down at the medical report outlining the surprise discovery of the "damage."

"You weren't allowed to think," Clint said.

"But now I have a choice, and they took it from me."

He couldn't pretend to understand, but he knew she felt violated beyond anything she had been made to do before and he let her handle her grief. When it meant she couldn't let anyone touch her for weeks, even him, he pretended like he didn't need a distraction or way to burn off adrenaline from missions. He just tore up the shooting range and bloodied his knuckles on punching bags until Natasha told Coulson she would take the next pair mission with him. That night they had chased away the blood on their hands in a ratty motel room curled in each other's arms, savoring the feel of closeness to another human being. They hardly ever mentioned it again, but when it came up Clint let her take her space and time, and ignored Tony's cracks about "Trouble in paradise?" She was his partner, and he was whatever she needed him to be.

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Technically, because of some S.H.I.E.L.D. intern's overexcitement to do his job well, Natasha and Clint were married. It was an accident from when a mission cover needed to be iron-clad, and the overeager junior employee had found out about the marriage certificate, but not the mission it was part of. So he plugged it into their files.

Since it was too much of a hassle to get a divorce, legally they stayed husband and wife. Hardly anyone knew about it- and they liked it that way- but neither of them did completely. Some days Nat missed the weight of the ring on her finger, but then she would remember that they were partners, and they didn't feel about each other that way. The life of a happy couple was not for them, even if she wanted it. Which she didn't.

But when Clint took her to the ballet for their anniversary she let his hand stay in hers, hadn't complained when his head rested on her shoulder. It was a new imagining of Sleeping Beauty with vampires and kept Natasha utterly enraptured the whole time, and she mentally took note of the choreography. Sometimes she missed dancing like she missed the ring.

On the walk back to the tower Clint complained that he hadn't understood the story and that ballet was boring, so she threw Russian at him until he relented and said maybe it was ok.

"You didn't just, like, threaten to shoot me or choke me, right?" he asked, glancing at her. She slid an arm around his waist, admiring the fit of the suit on him- one good thing about living with a billionaire.

"I said you're a dirty American with no taste," she smirked, although that wasn't what she'd said at all. He relaxed into a grin and blew on the side of her face, disturbing her carefully arranged red curls. She swatted him away but both knew that it was playful, that if she really wanted he would be dead in the dirt and she'd lie about what happened with the body sitting next to her.

That was the thing with Natasha; if you weren't dead you had a place, and she couldn't know that for Clint it was the best feeling in the world. Next to not being dead- that felt pretty great, too.

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S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone and it had been a year since New York, but Clint still had nightmares that a few hours at the shooting range Tony built for him couldn't scare away.

"Tasha?" he murmured, knocking on her door softly and hoping he didn't wake the others. They knew he and Nat were just partners, people with a past, but it wouldn't stop them from seeing things that weren't there- _especially_ if they knew how often one of them ended up in the other's bed for activities innocent or otherwise.

That night Nat was actually asleep, so Clint flinched at the idea of interrupting her peaceful slumber, but he had the names of good men scrolling in his mind- good men he had put in the ground.

"Tasha," he repeated, standing at the foot of her bed. She shifted, eyes opening to blink in the fragile light washing through the window.

"Which one?" she asked calmly when she was alert and awake enough to notice how pale his face was.

He swallowed past a dry throat.

"Loki."

She nodded, a terrifying scowl warping her features. Throwing off the covers she strode over to him and held out a hand, which he took without thinking. He knew he was squeezing harder than he should have but she didn't make a sound, let him sag against her breathlessly because the weight of those names was going to kill him someday if she wasn't there to keep him standing.

"Sleep or movie?" she asked, hot breath buffeting his cheeks.

"Movie, definitely."

They watched _Moulin Rouge_ in the lower living room and sang along to the "Elephant Love Medley," and Nat laughed her ass off when Clint fell off the back of the couch after impersonating Christian balancing on the elephant's head. When morning finally came the other Avengers woke to them already in the kitchen, Nat eating a scone and Clint chowing down on Thor's poptarts.

Nat said Clint should talk to someone about it, and he said only if she would. She replied in Russian and he looked dramatically scared.

He shouldn't have- it was the closest she'd ever come to saying "I love you."

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They didn't know when the Avengers became a family, but they did, somehow, and it felt good to finally be able to call the tower home. Clint paid back Tony for all the bird jokes by wiring his stereo to only play the Star Spangled Banner and assorted bird noises, and Steve and the archer developed a surprising camaraderie between missions and just hanging around the tower. By virtue of being a warrior Nat endeared herself to Thor by sparring with him head-to-head, and even wormed her way into Bruce's affections before Clint did. Her missions with S.H.I.E.L.D. were something she had shared with Steve while Clint was used in other places, so when the Captain woke her from a nightmare one night she wasn't surprised and merely let him talk as long as he needed to. Clint, much to her admiration, just said he was glad Steve found a way to cope when things occasionally got to be too much, and as long as Nat didn't drop him completely for Captain Abs they could keep their midnight chat sessions.

So the tower was home, and splitting their time between Saturday brunch, S.H.I.E.L.D., and saving the world became the norm for the resident assassins.

Then S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, and Bucky came home, and between them she and Clint left over a hundred frantic voice mails for each other until he made his way back to the states the evidence of their own eyes told them they were alive, that he hadn't been buried when his mission went south and she'd survived being in the middle of Hydra's attempted takeover.

They got a lot of space after that, and the Bucky weirdness was… weird, but as far as Natasha was concerned, her archer was home safely, and that was what mattered.

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When Bucky came back, Clint realized that there _were_ parts of Natasha he would have rather never known, but the sight of Natasha kissing Cap's long-dead friend wasn't an image he'd ever forget.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, one hand winding through his hair, the other on his cheek. "I'm so sorry. I never came for you, and then I hurt you- _James_..."

Then it was like something in the Soldier's mind _clicked_, a jagged edge sliding into place behind his eyes right before his arms wrapped around her and squeezed tightly.

"Natalia," he breathed against her skin, eyes closed. It was only when Clint looked away from him- a few months ago he had been a n internationally feared assassin, now he was hugging Nat like an anchor to the world and it felt _wrong_- that he noticed Nat's expression. Her eyes were open, but they shimmered in the light and there was a set to her lips that was so desperately unhappy he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. When the first tear fell he turned on his heel and left the room.

No one came after him.

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It was after the first two days of brooding that Natasha came and found him, swinging his legs out over the gym from his perch in the rafters and listening to death metal- he stole Tony's iPod. As soon as she called him he hopped down, not even trying to disguise, at that point, that something was wrong.

"We need to talk," she said.

"I need to eat," he countered, gesturing to the wrecked shooting range behind him that had been his anger-vent for the past few hours. She nodded and they made their way to the kitchen and living room area on an upper floor, where Clint made a sandwich and ignored the fact that they had company.

"James was… a teacher, a friend," Natasha murmured after too long. She glanced across the room to where he sat numbly with Pepper on the couch, watching some ridiculous modeling show.

"A partner, sometimes," she said with a meaningful look that told Clint she didn't just mean they occasionally killed people together. "In the Red Room, we kept each other human. I had never known anything like it before, but then I found out that he was more of a prisoner than I was. When he disappeared, I ran, and after two years I stopped looking for him."

_Don't ask don't ask you fucking human disaster_-

"Did you love him?"

Even Natasha looked surprised at the question, but didn't yell or jump on him or draw assumptions. He actually let out a sigh of relief when she looked at Bucky again, half of her attention these days.

"I owe him, for every day he suffered and I was under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protection," she said, almost too softly to hear, and for a minute Clint wondered if he was going to have to turn up his hearing aids. "And… yes. I think I did. I still do."

Then her head turned and she was _smiling_ at him and it was so sad and bitter but she was also laughing at herself, and Clint didn't know if that made it any better.

"He's my tragic Russian love story. Don't worry Clint, I'm not compromised, I just-"

"-owe him, yeah," Clint said, and pretended that the only thing he was worried about was Nat's performance, her mental health because of their _friendship_.

"Don't get jealous on me, Barton," she teased lightly.

"What, me? Jealous of a POW with seventy-plus years of PTSD? No way."

"You'll help, though?" she said, and she took his hand gently. "He needs everyone right now, not just Steve"- _or me_- "and when he's better, if he wants, he'll be one of us."

_One of us_.

Right, the Avengers. They were an official thing now.

"Of course he will- we could use another crazy person. I don't think six is enough-"

"Six?"

"Sam doesn't count. He's cool."

Natasha huffed, and Clint didn't lie to himself- holding her hand felt _good_. Better than his sandwich, better than morning coffee, probably.

Definitely.

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Bucky was less of a headcase than Clint thought he would be, but in other areas he was even more of one.

Gym- yes.

Toasters- no.

Shopping- _NONONONONO_.

TV- yes, as long as he's not holding the remote.

Sparring- Natasha, Steve, and Thor only, breakable Avengers beware.

Food- eh. If he remembers, pb&j is fine.

So it went, and where he went, Steve followed. Or Natasha. Or both.

Sometimes in reverse.

Watching the Winter Soldier pad around in a Captain America hoodie after Nat was not even _slightly_ adorable.

At all.

(And no, no pictures… said soviet duckling was still a master assassin and Nat's allergic reaction to cameras was not something he wanted to be re-acquainted with.)

Life went on.

Bucky got better- ish, and Nat was still hovering like a mother hen, the same way Bucky fretted over Steve.

But life went on.

And for once, even Clint would admit that it was pretty good.

Until it wasn't.

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Nat pressed the comm. into her ear and threw a glance at Clint, a small smile quirking up her lips. The archer was snapping out his bow and when he caught her look he gave his best "I'm a serious killer" face. She scrunched up her nose at him but let it drop as soon as Steve turned to them, so all their brave Captain caught was Clint's snort of laughter. Frowning, he fixed his shield on his back and cleared his throat.

"Nat, you're on pilot duty," he ordered. She moved past him into the cockpit, settling into the seat and cinching the belt straps tight across her waist and chest. When she flipped the comm. switch it crackled for a brief second before the noise from the belly of the jet filtered into the small space.

"-Tony, you're on backup and Bruce-"

"What? Are you serious Cap-"

"We need someone in the air outside, Tony. Besides, once the Hulk makes an appearance you're the only one who can calm him down, alright?"

"Fine," Tony muttered.

"Bruce, can the other guy get us in without taking down the whole base?"

"Sure thing. He'll, ah, need something else to do though…"

"That's part of the plan. Barton, Natasha and I are going in but we'll need you to make a big enough distraction that we can get the intel without being caught."

"Uh… what is it we're getting again?" That was Clint. Natasha stifled a laugh as she flipped a switch and felt the quinjet come alive beneath her hands.

"Liftoff," she said into the comm. The jet rose with barely a shudder, gliding seamlessly out of the tower and into the fading evening light. The tinted windows of the cockpit still let in some of the sun's rosy glow, and behind the silhouette of the New York skyline there was a golden trail blazed by the dying sun. She punched in the coordinates and angled the jet towards Maine.

"We're taking down a Hydra base that's still active," Steve explained patiently. "We think they may have intel on the Winter Soldier Program, and hopefully maps of the rest of the operation. Project Insight was just a bump in the road for them. We get in, get the data, and get out before we blow the place off the map."

"Search and destroy, I like it," Clint said, but something in Natasha's chest had gone cold at the tightness in Steve's voice. Bucky had been in their custody for a few months now, deconditioning and going through layers of security, trying to find himself amidst the jumble of memories that hit him like a brick wall when Hydra fell and Steve found him. How quickly he came to his senses was a testament to how much he had fought Hydra over the years, but he still had code words and missing memories and just falling back into being Bucky Barnes wasn't going to be easy.

So now every time they found another base they scanned it for hard copies of the Winter Soldier files, most of which had never been digitized. Then they found more base locations and cleaned up- which meant leaving a crater for the government to sift through.

Nat's hands clenched on the controls and she banked left, heading north.

The next mission.

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It had all gone according to plan, from the other guy breaking them into the reinforced bunker, to taking advantage of his rampage to sneak through the base unnoticed. While Steve dispatched any guards who spotted them Nat did all the digging and Clint stayed in position up high, their eyes inside the bunker as Tony watched the outside, picking off stragglers before they could escape.

Then Crossbones arrived, and it all went to hell.

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Fire grazed her cheek and lanced up the side of her face, but as quickly as it had come the pain was gone. A soft "_oof_" sound came from her left, almost too low to be noticed except it was Natasha and she was trained to notice.

When she looked over Clint was swaying on his feet, one hand pressed to his gut where red dripped between his fingers.

"Shit," he wheezed. Then he stumbled back and hit the railing with a clang that rattled in Natasha's chest.

She threw herself down between him and the elevated shooter, pistol already in hand. Her eyes narrowed as she let off a quick burst of shots in succession, aimed at the darkness where she knew the sniper was perched.

"Hey Nat, I think he hit something important," Clint rasped, and when she looked at him again she realized that he was already injured- a bullet to the shoulder and a wicked-looking gash across his chest. His blood gleamed wetly in the dim light but in the darkness it would have been completely unnoticeable. Nat let out a stream of curses in several different languages as she bent down and pressed an arm against his back. If Crossbones wanted to kill them, now was his chance, but as the silence pressed on Nat started to think that maybe she had hit something important, too.

"Steve," she said into the comm. as she helped Clint to his feet, every gasp sending a lance of agony through her. He was trembling- he wasn't a super soldier or a god or an experiment, he was just a man. Just a spy, like her. "Steve, Clint's down, Crossbones is here. We need to retreat."

"Roger," his voice was so clear it was like he was next to her. "Where are you?"

Nat glanced around until she caught sight of a plaque near the stairs.

"Fifth level, but there's an elevator."

"Tony's bringing the jet around. I'm on third- I'll come get you-"

"No!" she was almost screaming. They had to get out had to _get out_ because Clint was hurt and the place was scheduled for demolition. "We'll come to you. Meet on third."

His voice was tense, but he didn't argue. Natasha sagged against the elevator doors and willed them open. Clint was pale.

"Fine."

The ride up threatened to kill Natasha as she tore the sleeves off her suit and pressed them against Clint's gut wound and the gash on his chest. He was trembling on his feet and Nat had to keep saying his name over and over and over to keep him from slipping away from her.

When the elevator door finally slid open and Steve stepped in he took one look at Clint and jammed the button for the first floor.

Thank God Hydra didn't invest in elevator music.

"Nat," Clint mumbled against her. "Nat, I…"

"Shhhh," she soothed, grip tightening around his shoulders.

"No, Nat," he persisted, pressing his lips t her ear.

The doors slid open.

"Give him to me," Steve ordered, and Nat, still reeling from what he'd told her, moved away so he could lift Clint like he was nothing. The wind from the quinjet touching down buffeted their faces as they rushed out.

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She pretended like it didn't matter, and expressed the appropriate level of concern that anyone would have for a teammate, but other than that and a quick once-over of his monitors she didn't go to see him again.

The floorboards in her room were cold even though she'd told Jarvis to keep it 70 degrees at all times- she loved Russia but not that much, and she would never again want any sort of ice in her bones or against her skin.

Her motherland was long behind her. She had a home now, and she had a team, and one of them lay dying but she couldn't do anything about it. It was unfathomable that the Black Widow could cry and that her tears could be the same as any other person's, but hers were salty and hot and there was fire in her veins. Others had felt this grief; it was not a new thing, not by far, but it had never been quite like this.

Like there was a spider inside her itching under skin, wanting to break out and cocoon Barton in its web and never let the world touch him. She knew he felt the same way because she'd caught the look in his eyes after they had sex, or when she was hurt, or in the spare hours of the night when neither could sleep but they didn't want to talk, either. Like his dearest wish was just to hold her in his arms and shield her from everything.

But he knew her better than that. Never again would anyone ever have that much power over her, even when it stemmed from a wish as pure-hearted as his, so he didn't even bother saying "Stay safe," before missions or warning her when she came home with new bruises and stitches. It was in the silent spaces that they showed their affection, the absence of words as telling as the "I love you" she heard him whisper against her cheek before the last bullet downed him.

The sentimental idiot.

Each of them had their own spiral of self-destruction and because she could not let him own her and because he was a walking disaster even when she was by his side- which wasn't often enough- they didn't bother trying to guard the other anymore. They just watched, and stayed ready, partners in every sense of the word and probably more.

_I love you. _

But she could not cry in front of him and she could not break in front of her team because the Black Widow didn't do that and Natasha didn't remember how to, anyway.

"You fucking idiot," she breathed against the floor, curled around herself and squeezing so tightly she knew her legs would bruise by morning. "Barton, you…"

_I love you. _

She couldn't tell whose voice was in her head anymore.

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Her first thought when she woke was how careless she was, to have fallen asleep in a vulnerable position with her back to the door. Her second thought was that she hurt all over with an ache like nothing she had felt in years- this last mission was hard, sleeping curled around herself on the floor without a cool down or medical attention had only made it worse.

Her third thought was _Barton. _

It took all of her self-control not to run to the elevator and jam the button for the infirmary with her finger hard enough to break it. Instead, she peeled herself off the floor and walked jerkily to the bathroom, where she stripped off her suit and turned on the water of the shower until it was scalding. The blood crusting around the wound on her cheek where a bullet grazed her cheek- the same bullet that buried itself in Barton's chest- broke when she yawned, red flaking to the floor like rust as she stepped into the shower. The tile was cool on her feet and pretty soon it was running with red like her hair, like the rest of her body, from the knife wound on her upper arm that had reopened- it was a miracle she hadn't bled on the floor.

Ten minutes later she stepped out into the bathroom, rubbing away the fog from the mirror to take in the shadows under her eyes and the cut on her lip. She looked wan, but she was alive. The pain in her arm when she gauzed the wound and taped a patch on her cheek were proof of that.

It took her 120 seconds to go from her room to the infirmary, and that was only because the elevator was so slow.

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"You had to be all dramatic," she grumbled from her spot curled on the bed next to him, one hand gently gliding across the bandages on his chest. Clint laughed, then winced.

"In my defense, I did actually think I was going to die. That's a real thing that happens to us fragile normal people," he said, and she silenced him with a kiss. Not like the passionate ones where they practically rammed into each other in their desperation to forget, or the slow, reassuring ones that they sometimes used when they were alone, and afraid, and had to find a way to drown the vulnerability. No, it was smooth and delicate and careful in a way that Natasha never was. Beneath her hand she felt his breath hitch, chest pausing mid-breath.

"But you're _my _normal person," she said when they parted, looking into his deep blue-green eyes.

He cleared his throat, and suddenly Nat leaned away.

"Please, just… no kissing until I'm done," he said suddenly. "Or hitting. Or leaving."

"I think we've had enough declarations for one day, Clint," she said, but he shook his head.

"Sorry, pretend I'm still on death's door."

It wasn't difficult, all things considered. Natasha waited, hand still splayed across his chest, the other settled in her lap.

"I know dating is supposed to come first but honestly I don't think I have the patience," Clint confessed, and Nat couldn't help the little laugh that rolled off her chest- she had been w_orried. _

"What do you think we've been doing for the past six years?" she asked, amazed that _that _was what he went for, almost a near-death experience and confession of love while in a rickety elevator with _Steve _standing next to them, of all people, but Clint just shook his head.

"I'm serious, Nat. I don't just want a certificate with false names, I want a ring, and a tux, and to be able to say what _this_"- he gestured between them- "is. I want to marry you."

All Nat could do was blink in shock, because he _was_ serious.

But her heart knew that, and her head did, and really there was no reason why they shouldn't. They were hardly spies anymore, there was no scenario where she would ever be with another man. She could learn to compensate for the weight of a ring on her finger.

"You know, Barton, I expected something a little flashier," she said, and kissed him again.

"Well I did have it all planned out- I was going to serenade you with 'Come What May' and it would have been rife with allusions to our troubled, star-crossed history, but I don't think I'm feeling quit ready for a sing-along just now-"

"I love you," she murmured.

_I've been saying it for years and you keep missing it, but I do I do I do. _

No one else was allowed in the infirmary for the rest of day, and no one asked, either.

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There was only a tux because Clint insisted, and Nat wore one of Pepper's red dresses because even she couldn't wear white with a good conscience. She was still too much of a spy to allow a white wedding.

As prince of Asgard Thor had the ability to marry them, a rule which translated to earth. So Clint and Natasha signed a new piece of paper- real names this time- and Thor declared them husband and wife. Bucky threw rice and actually looked like he had cleaned himself up for the special occasion, offering her sincere congratulations beforehand. Then Clint asked if he could dip her like in the old movies and she said yes, and her hair brushed the floor as he kissed her and she swore she saw the good kind of red exploding behind her eyes.

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When they found out there was a baby, everyone stood for a heartbeat in stunned silence, and even Tony couldn't come up with an appropriate quip. They had only just begun to get used to the idea that Natasha and Clint were _married_, but to spring this on them less than a year later? It was too much even for Tony's delicate sensibilities.

"You… really?" Clint rasped at last, looking up at Natasha with eyes that were almost pleading, but for what none of the other Avengers could tell. The two spies were locked in a heated discussion and conversed with their eyes, with the way his hands twitched towards her and her arms folded minutely around the flat plain of her stomach. When she shook her head he let out a sigh of relief.

"Ok then," he murmured and stood. Everyone else took it as a cue and Thor and Bruce rose as well, only to have to quickly step out of the way as Natasha glided across the kitchen to Clint. Their hands touched, fingers splaying gently until their palms were flush and then they curved over so their hands were clasped. Clint's eyes fell shut.

"She stays," Natasha said, staring at the archer but addressing the entire room. One of Tony's eyebrows arched in disbelief.

"How do you know it's a girl?" he asked, arms crossing.

"I know," Natasha said, and smiled.

The smile disappeared as soon as her secret stash of vodka went missing, and things only went downhill from there.

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It turned out, because S.H.I.E.L.D. no longer existed to keep them under policy and the Avengers didn't have an official set of guidelines or, well, _anything, _that no one could actually force Natasha to stop working in the field.

What that really meant was that Clint and the other Avengers had three months of panic attacks every time Natasha went into the field.

"I can take care of myself," Natasha said irritably when Clint tried, for the fourth time, to convince her not to come help them take out a legion of Doombots in Maine.

"But, the baby!" the archer gasped exasperatedly, smacking his forehead when Natasha just continued to slide guns into her holsters and tuck a knife into her boot.

"Is not even the size of an apple yet, and will be fine because I've been doing this for my entire life and have yet to be dealt a near-lethal injury," she said patiently.

So what began as scary, and cycled into adorable, suddenly became downright difficult. Cravings and swollen ankles and morning sickness and back pain and a stomach rapidly approaching the size of a watermelon all combined to make Natasha the scariest person in the tower. It was a previously unconsidered title but now that a little assassin was on the way the mother-to-be won by a landslide. Even pregnant Natasha was deadly, though, and it took all seven of them combined to force Natasha out of the field once she started showing, and only with the promise that Bucky was well enough to take her place and watch their backs. He was, according to her, the only other person on the team without "a wish for sudden and excruciatingly painful death in the name of heroism."

Bucky looked very seriously at Steve and nodded in agreement with the comment, earning himself an indignant squawk from the supersoldier who doubled as the center of his affections.

Going into the field without Nat was not a new occurrence, but it was an uncomfortable one while she sat at home with their child, all alone except for Pepper when she could spare the time, and Jane when she wasn't doing sciencey things. So really, just Nat and Darcy and the official vine account the mischievous intern set up for Avengers Tower.

That was how the world found out about Baby Black Widow.

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Galina Rose Barton was born on the Fourth of July.

Steve was beaming, and Natasha instantly launched into an exhausted rendition of the Russian national anthem while rocking her daughter in her arms. Clint leaned over and kissed the top of her head. For once Natasha was too tired to protest at the easy display of infantilizing affection. Not three minutes later, she was fast asleep, Galina still cradled against her chest.

Clint was grinning like a fool.

"I have a tiny, baby assassin," he said, awestruck.

"Yeah... Better keep it on a short leash, Barton," Tony muttered, apparently already envisioning the destruction which will ensue once Galina was walking. If she was anything like her parents, that wouldn't be long at all.

Clint gave him a withering look, and Tony held up his hands.

"Hey, just a joke, birdbrain."

"Come on, Tony," Steve said, giving Tony his best "I'm America don't disappoint me it's worse than kicking a puppy" look. Tony groaned.

"Fine, I get it. No humor in the birthing suit," he shrugged. "Seriously though, how big do you think she'll need to be before I can make her a suit-"

"No," Clint said flatly. Tony looked personally affronted and crossed his arms.

"The first member of the Young Avengers needs a suit," he argued, and Steve looked horrified all of a sudden.

"There _is_ no Young Avengers," he exclaimed.

"There is only the child- _my_ child- that will not ever be setting foot in an Iron Man suit," Clint said with a tone that clearly laid down the law.

Tony never had been one for the rules.

"I suppose you're going to give her a bow instead?" he shot back. Clint smirked and nodded, much to Steve's continued horror. He was hoping Natasha would have more common sense when she woke up-

"Stop talking," said assassin mumbled from the bed, and everyone froze. Her eyes were closed and her grip on Galina relaxed, but there was an unhappy set to her mouth.

"I have just gone through an eighteen-hour labor. Shut up or Galina will never know her father or godparents," she hissed.

All three men rose and backed out of the room as quickly and silently as possible, but even before the door fell closed-

"Godparents? Did she just say what I think she did?" Tony prodded, and Clint nodded.

"Technically all of you guys are- and Pepper," he explained. Steve grinned widely, glancing back through the infirmary's glass doors at the sleeping mother and daughter. Galina's curls, the same dirty blonde as her father's, practically glowed in the dim fluorescent lights.

Bucky would be thrilled.

"So about that whole Young Avengers thing," Tony said. "When are you and Sharon gonna pop out a few patriotic babies?"

Steve clearly decided it was beneath his dignity to answer, shook his head, and bade Clint goodnight before heading to his room. Tony and Clint watched him go, the archer with a secret smile on his face that suddenly made Tony very nervous.

"The Young Avengers won't be complete without an Iron Man in the miniature, don't you think?" Clint slapped Tony on the shoulder and sauntered away. Suddenly Tony was scrambling for his room.

When he threw open the door and snapped on the lights he saw Pepper tangled on the bed, sleep mask firmly in place. Still, she frowned at the intrusion of light and tugged it up, strawberry blonde hair a halo around her features.

"Tony?" she muttered groggily, not registering the panic on her boyfriend's face.

"Please tell me we aren't expecting an Iron Baby any time soon."

She groaned and rolled back over.

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For her fourth birthday Clint gave his daughter a nerf bow-and-arrow, and Tony a miniature iron man suit in black and purple. Steve taught her how to play the piano, her mother was delighted when she picked up ballet easily, and even Bruce decided to teach her meditation.

Of course, that was only after Galina walked into his "Zen Room," poked him and asked very loudly why he was listening to weird music and sleeping standing up. He'd explained to her what he was doing and why, not really expecting anything other than a "boring" as she flounced away. Instead, she'd asked politely if she could join him, and from then on it wasn't an uncommon sight to see the two of them sitting with their legs crossed on yoga mats in his room or the lab, peacefully letting their minds wander.

It was Steve's job to get her out of the house when Clint and Natasha had other things to do, so they frequented parks and Steve learned quickly not to let her take her weapons outside of the tower. Instead, she scaled trees and caught squirrels and birds, releasing them calmly after a moment or two of holding them in her hands, feeling their hearts beat with wide, awe-filled green eyes.

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Galina _was_ the first of the Young Avengers, but that story came much later, after superhero birthday parties and tai-quoin-do lessons and an Asgardian pony (Tony was on Cloud 9 designing a stall for the "_alien horse_, Pepper!"). In the beginning, it was just her, and her family, and the world that one day would rely on her as it did them, if that was the path she chose.

(Spoiler, it was).

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review and tell me what you thought!**


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